love
by emishii
Summary: Where did it come from and where does it go? — Azula/Ty Lee.
**disclaimer.** A:TLA characters © NICKELODEON

 **a/n.** a very generic, short(ish) story I've been working on. It may seem a bit graphic at first, but nice!azula will compensate for that. Hope you'll enjoy.

 **warning.** Abuse. Rape. Slight AU, in which Azula and Ty Lee have never met, Ty Lee doesn't do chi-blocking, and the Royal Family is not so angsty and is slightly happier. Which means a more stable Azula. Kind of. Doesn't mean she won't do crazy things, though.

* * *

 _ **love  
**_ (part 1)

* * *

This should, quite honestly, be funny.

Azula gently touches the tip of her brush into the ceramic palette. She brings the tip back up to the painting, where she proceeds to apply light strokes of the cerulean blue paint onto the damp, base colour of deep purple. Her blue disappears, blends into the darker shade. The process of the blue disappearing reminds her of her fire. Her signature blue fire, which she is very much proud of but is, all the same, bored of.

Her teachers, her mentors, her _father_ say that one cannot truly master a skill, that there is no limit, that if anything, the _sky_ is the limit. But Azula is very, very certain that she, at the age of seventeen, has mastered firebending.

That's why it's funny, the fact that she's thinking of mastering _painting_ (of all things) as her next goal.

That, and the fact that she feels completely unlike herself today.

She dips the same brush into a dab of white paint, which she then mixes with the blended blue and dark purple. She creates a midnight-blue colour. She creates clouds.

Great. She wanted to paint flowers— _more specifically, blue poppy anemone—_ and she ends up painting a cloudy, midnight sky. She ends up painting a midnight sky early in the morning. Not really what she had in mind, but at another perspective, at least the picture does not look half bad.

"Azula,"

She turns— _spins_ —around, raven locks swaying with her movement.

"Mother," she stands from her stool, unsure whether or not she should walk up to the Fire Lady. Or to move, in general.

The woman greets her daughter with a bright smile. "Come, let me look at you."

She obeys, slipping through the silk canopy as she steps in from the balcony. Azula stands in front of her mother, shoulders stiff and her posture firm.

Ursa lets out a sound of amusement through her nose and reaches out to hold onto the princess' hands. She looks at her. Tall, proud, flawless, beautiful Princess Azula. Her beautiful daughter, Azula. She reaches up and finds a stray strand of hair, brushing it away from her daughter's face, behind an ear. "How are you feeling today, my dear?"

Azula tells herself to arch her lips upwards. "I am well, mother. And yourself?"

"Oh, you know," she chuckles, and it is a rich and gentle sound. "Just excited about the preparation for my daughter's big day." Ursa's smile widens into a grin. "Aren't you thrilled, my dear? It is only in three weeks!"

The princess maintains her smile, but she does not respond.

A thick, heavy tension immediately fills the air.

And Ursa catches on; she feels the tension as well. Actually, she _knows_ of said tension since it was first known what is to happen to her daughter. Although the main subject in question is rather unfazed (as she always is) by the announcement, it is absolutely humiliating—utterly _pathetic_ that she, as a mother, as well, does not show a _hint_ of concern.

Ursa is not doing anything for her daughter.

She is not protecting her daughter.

And she is still avoiding the subject.

"Mother?" Azula breaks the silence.

Ursa lowers her head to look at their joined hands. She needs to hide. Hide. _Hide_. "Have you been painting, Azula?" she asks as she opens up the girl's palms.

Azula's fingertips are smudged with deep blue and purple shades, and as a princess, she knows that it is unbecoming. It is also childish, but somehow, the perfectionist, or the artistic side in her—if you will— does not find the need to feel embarrassed about it. She just does not find the _need._ So, Azula simply fakes another smile. "It isn't completely depressing."

"You sound like your brother's girlfriend. As much as I love how she keeps Zuko in check, she can get quite disheartening at times," Ursa chuckles. "Why not take up another instrument?"

"I can already play the flute, the erhu, and the pipa," Azula explains. "I do not believe that it is necessary to learn a fourth instrument."

Ursa gives her daughter a proud smile. "Yes, of course. How can I forget? My dear daughter is a prodigy when it comes to, well, _everything._ I would love to hear you play for me again. Perhaps you can have a duet with your brother some time? He's not so bad with the flute himself."

The princess keeps her face straight. "Perhaps."

Tension fills the air again. Ursa lowers her gaze at their joined hands, running circles on the knuckles of her daughter's hands with a gentle strength. A soothing strength. Ursa swallows, the lump in her throat becomes thicker and she instinctively clears her throat and tightens her grip on Azula's hands.

Azula notices and she prepares herself. She has been preparing herself for _whenever_ her mother steps into her room. Though she knows that it is rather rare.

"I…" Ursa begins, "… I still cannot believe that my daughter is getting married."

Azula tries not to make a reaction, but she subconsciously swallows and her throat bobs.

Ursa sees in her peripherals, so she tries her hardest to give her daughter a genuine smile, "Azula, you can be honest with me. Do you… are you—"

"Yes," she cuts in sharply. "Of course I want this, mother."

A pause. Ursa clenches her jaw. "… As long as you are happy, Azula."

 _Happy._

She nods. "I am."

Ursa smiles. As Azula's hands slip away from hers, she cannot help but to feel that she has, once again, lost an opportunity to care for her daughter. To _protect_ her daughter.

"Pardon me, mother," Azula begins. "I wish to go for a walk."

"Yes, of course," the Fire Lady's cheerful tone manages to brighten up the atmosphere, no matter how forced it is. "Don't let me keep you. And I do wish to see your masterpiece, whenever you are finished." She gestures at Azula's paint-smudged fingers and then at the balcony, concealed by a thin, crimson canopy.

Azula breathes out. "As you wish, mother."

Ursa holds her hands together. "See you tonight then, my dear."

Azula nods again.

.  
.

She walks through the empty palace corridors, where the pathway is completely symmetrical and perfect. Azula walks in the dead centre, admiring the fact that she herself is blending in with the symmetry of the beautiful palace designs.

Yes.

She is a thing of beauty.

She is part of a set, part of something beautiful. She is to become something that she herself can come to admire.

She is to become the Fire Lord.

The thought brings a small smile to her lips, but it is voluntary. It comes and goes like the wind, and it scares her that the moment of happiness does not last longer than a second.

Azula comes across the entrance to the palace courtyard. She is not particularly fond of the place, for it is frequently visited by her mother and brother, together. Just the two of them. Now, that thought makes her clench her jaw. Azula does not like it, however, that she is bothered by something so trivial. So she challenges her thoughts and steps into the garden.

The green grass and blossoming flowers remind her of the Earth Kingdom, the clear pond that is reflecting the sky like a mirror reminds her of the Water Tribe, and neither one of those are things that she is particularly fond of. She does not like how the Earth King spoke so enthusiastically when she visited Ba Sing Se in place of her father—for publicity purposes, of course—and she does not like how she had to sail for months, all the way up north in that bloody, _freezing_ environment, just to have the chieftain greet her with an embrace.

Which is highly inappropriate on many, many scales.

Azula is talented at hiding her emotions, however. So, despite how much she hated those places, she plays her role—thoroughly and completely—just as her father wishes, and just as a true _ruler_ does.

She endures.

Azula takes a deep breath, letting the fresh air fill her heavy lungs. The birds chirp and the turtleducks splash lightly in the water. Azula walks along the side of the pond, venturing deeper into the centre of the courtyard, where a beautiful pavilion is constructed. She has to admit, of all things in the garden, that structure is perhaps what she hates least. Nature runs wild and is troubling to maintain, but at least architecture can be controlled.

Only, when she arrives at the bridge that leads to the said structure, Azula sees two figures, standing under the roof of the pavilion, cuddling.

 _Oh._

It is her brother and his girlfriend. They're always together, showing off how out of control their adolescent hormones are. And as if hugging and whispering words of affection isn't enough, Azula now sees them kissing. She wants to roll her eyes, but does not have the will to do it.

A very curious person he is. Her gloomy brother, incapable of producing a smile in front of their father, is able to grin, to _laugh_ in front of everyone else. Azula would not say that he is unskilled, but he does not try. He does not try like herself (for he is two years older, but still does not know how to bend lightning). Yet, he does not bother with perfecting his firebending stances, and instead uses the time to play pai sho with their uncle. He does not even bother with studying politics, yet their tutors seem to enjoy teaching him more. He is not beautiful like herself either, with that large burn covering half his face.

Yet, he has a lover. People love him. _Mother_ loves him.

 _But father loves you more,_ Azula reassures herself.

Once she becomes Fire Lord, people will love _her._

"Azula,"

She breaks away from her trance and looks up.

Her brother is looking her way, and so is his girlfriend— _who has the straightest face Azula does not believe is possible for a human being to make—_ and he looks rather concerned.

"Good morning, Zuzu." Azula greets.

Zuko rolls his eyes. He pulls his girlfriend close by the waist and stands tall. "What are you, spying on me?"

Azula stands relaxed. "For what reason do I have to do such a thing? Oh, is that how you view me? A rude, sneaky, nosy little girl, interested in nothing more than watching her brother and his girlfriend snogging?"

He knows his _darling_ little sister is being sarcastic, as she always is. But it does not frustrate him any less. "That was what you were doing, Azula." He deadpans.

"Oh, yes, yes…" the princess laughs. "You've caught me, dear brother."

Zuko grimaces. His brows narrow and his amber eyes sharpen so evidently they seem to change into a deeper gold for a split second. "Leave us alone."

"Yes, your highness," Azula bows, mocking the movements of the servants rather gracefully. "I will see you tonight." She turns around to make her way for the exit, and she can imagine her brother fuming—to the point that he is conjuring up a fireball to toss at her. She does not worry, however, as he usually cannot stand her snarky remarks, anyway. He's always lacked the control over his emotions.

It's no wonder their father has chosen her to be the heir. He says that she is more level headed. And that's a trait that she should treasure, apparently.

Azula heads for the main gates of the palace—she needs a walk that is beyond the walls of confinement. A mere courtyard and thousands of corridors that look the same do not satisfy her.

"Fetch me my cloak," she commands simply to the first servant she sees. By the time she reaches the palace gates, another servant is there to drape a deep crimson cloak over her shoulders.

"Do you wish for a palanquin, your highness?"

"No," Azula pulls the hood over her head, "I wish to go alone today." She finishes and leaves the palace grounds.

The loud cheers and commotion from the festival on the main, larger streets nearby remind her that it's best to take smaller roads to avoid the attention. They are celebrating for _her_ , after all. It would defeat the purpose of wanting to be alone if she were to be swarmed by citizens, right? Though, she doesn't know if said citizens would actually do such a thing.

Nobody wants to be near her, ever. So it's ironic that they're even celebrating for her.

.  
.

This is kind of funny.

 _thump thump thump_

It's funny they call them springs. These things inside the hard mattress work more like planks of wood rattling together than anything. Or, maybe it's just that the springs don't work anymore. Maybe the bed's getting old?

 _thump thump thump_

Or maybe it's just getting worn out.

 _thump thump thump._

With, _you know_ —

 _thump thump thump_

—all of _this._

"Faster."

Ty Lee grits her teeth, presses her thighs together as she attempts to think about something else, something _funny,_ attempts to ignore the pain, and attempts to hold back the tears that are spilling out of her eyes, dampening her pillow. Leaning on her side, she hugs herself, weak sobs uncontrollably escaping from the back of her throat each time he pounds into her. His sharp nails dig into her hips, and Ty Lee is very certain that he is leaving new scars over old ones.

She's probably bleeding, too. But she doesn't really care. It's not like a few more scratches is going to make her body any more hideous. It's already so disgusting, anyway.

That's why it's funny, the fact he's still willing to fuck someone so ugly.

A choked cry escapes and the man immediately clasps his hand against her mouth, muffling the sound.

"Be quiet." He commands and grips her harder, quickens his pace and leans forward, not giving a _fuck_ that he is crushing her small body.

It hurts. She can't breathe. She doesn't want this. But _who would ever care?_ Ty Lee merely shuts her eyes, claw at the sheets beneath and bears with it. After all, this is what she has been doing since… well, she can't really remember. It's like she's lost her concept of time. So she learns to lie to herself.

 _It will end soon._

"Move." He grunts and pushes further, forcefully, harshly.

 _It will all end soon._

Ty Lee bites back a choke and obeys, matching his rough rhythm with as much strength as she can muster.

 _Please end soon._

"I said _faster_."

She tries, but they have travelled a long way and her muscles feel as though they are burning. Her head is aching, and she is sore and in pain and hurting and _hurting and—_

" _Fuck."_

A low growl escapes his throat.

Ty Lee bites harder to hold back another cry.

He releases her hips; bloodied, crescent shaped nail marks linger on her skin but she feels a much, much greater pain. Ty Lee falls back onto the bed and for a moment, thinks that she might as well be dead. But it's strange, the thought does not scare her. It actually pleases her. _Oh, how wonderful it would be._ Ty Lee closes her eyes and imagines what it would be like. Maybe, just _maybe_ … she can escape for a bit. Maybe just for a second.

"Get yourself cleaned up,"

Ty Lee pries her heavy eyelids open.

She sees the man pulling his pants up and draping a cloak over his shoulders, acting as if nothing has happened, acting as if whatever _has_ happened is something normal. "You know what will happen if you don't present yourself properly." He says simply, and then he is gone from her tent.

She could roll her eyes to that. _Of course_ she knows what will happen. She's lived through it so many times, and Ty Lee is so tired, _so tired._ She pushes herself up with sore arms and struggles to even stay sitting on her bed, because her entire body aches. She stands nonetheless, not bothering to cover herself, and drags her way over to the bucket of water she's prepared earlier. She sits at the wooden stool beside it, dropping a dry handkerchief into the water.

She has to wash up.

She has to wash away the stains, the fluids, the blood.

Ty Lee sniffles. Tears run down her cheeks unstoppably and she can't seem to breathe through her runny nose. She dunks her entire head into the bucket and wishes she is brave enough to drown herself.

But she isn't.

 _She's so pathetic, it's funny._

.  
.

If there is one thing more beautiful than herself, it is nature. She doesn't _like_ it, per se; she's simply fascinated.

And fascinated she is, in the middle of the Royal Caldera Park, finding herself to actually enjoy the sight of peasant children running around a well. Tag—Azula assumes—a silly game she used to play with her brother.

Up until she discovered that she could bend fire.

Azula looks at her opened palms and wonders if they would be as calloused if she weren't a firebender. She wonders if the servants, Zuko, father, _mother_ would treat her differently if she weren't a bender. She wonders, she wonders.

"Look, look! Over there!"

The voice of a child catches her attention. Azula looks up and sees that the children are no longer playing their game. They seem to be interested in something farther down the street. They are blocking her view, but the princess is not particularly interested anyway, so she just sits and stares. It's probably just a dying animal or something.

"Is she okay…?" A child asks, her voice hesitant.

One of the boys holds a hand by his hip, "Clearly not, right? I mean, she wouldn't be lying here if she were."

"Well, then, should we help?"

"No, don't touch her! What if she's sick or something?"

The children are starting to waver and are shirking away from whatever the _thing_ is. Azula sees through the cracks between their small bodies and sees that the _thing_ is, in fact, a human. A person.

So, partly against better judgement and partly because she is bored, Azula heaves a sigh and stands from her bench. Her nice, secluded, shaded bench under a cherry blossom tree.

"… M-maybe we should get one of the adults to come look at her?"

"Yeah! Good idea, I'll— _oof_!"

"Oh, spirits, Taka, are you okay?"

"Yeah, yeah, I'm fine… I just…" he pauses and looks up, right into the burning ambers of the tall, hooded figure.

"Get off my foot, child." Somehow, Azula manages to kick the poor boy off before she even finished with the demand.

The rest of the children turn towards the menacing voice, and surprisingly, none of them react in the way Azula assumed they would—as in, they do not react like her servants back in the palace when she scolds them.

 _How fascinating._

"Miss…?"

Azula looks down.

"Um… d-do you think that maybe you can…" the boy turns and gestures to the young woman surrounded by his friends, "… help that lady?"

The princess raises a brow. "Why?"

The boy blinks, "Because… we don't know how?"

The Princess of the Fire Nation has no time to entertain a peasant, let alone a peasant _child_. But when Azula thinks about it— _when she truly considers it_ —how often is she able to come in contact with these lowlifes? So, once more, against better judgement and most definitely because she is bored, Azula passes by the boy. The rest of the children clear the way when she kneels down by the unconscious body.

"What's wrong with her?" A girl questions with genuine concern.

It sickens Azula.

"She seems sick, doesn't she?"

The first thing Azula notices is not the ugly pink outfit this unconscious girl is wearing. It is the colour of her hair. How peculiar; it is brown—very unlike the common jet-black hair that the natives have here in the Fire Nation. Azula's eyes wander down to observe her body. Yes, she does appear to be sick, in the sense that she is far too skinny. Like she isn't well fed. Azula kneels down and easily rolls the girl over onto her back. She pushes open her collar and sees fresh, red bruises all over her neck. If she didn't know any better, she would think that this is a simple case of an allergy.

But Azula knows better.

"Stay away from her,"

The children shoot their heads up, alarmed.

"She has pentapox."

They blink. "What is that?"

Azula sighs. Sure, lying is one of her strongest suits, but that doesn't mean she enjoys doing it—especially when the reason does not involve anything grander than, say, taking over an armada. "It kills your internal organs. Your heart will be the first to fail, where blood will not pump to your brain, and then your lungs will start deflating. Urine will then secrete into your lungs because your bladders will fail as well. Most people with pentapox die from drowning in their own urine more than anything else." Face straight, Azula pauses to give the children a glance. Hopefully, the terms she used weren't too complicated for couple of eight to ten year-olds.

"That's…"

"No way! You're lying! Pee can't go up to the lungs!"

Rolling her eyes, Azula begins again, "Fine. You don't believe me? Symptoms of pentapox include not being able to lick your own elbow."

The children eye each other awkwardly.

"That's because your bones are decaying as well. Go ahead, give it a try." Azula shrugs.

Sure enough, the poor, gullible children do so. The sight would have been entertaining— _or in these children's parents' case, humiliating—_ but Azula's mask is unchanging. She watches with fascination as each and every one of them fail to 'lick their elbows'.

"What did I say?"

"I… I can't do it…!" The boy known as Taka exclaims. His voice is shaking and Azula barely manages to conceal a smirk.

"What do we do? I… I don't want to drown in my own pee!"

"Miss, you gotta help us!"

Azula clenches her jaw before clearing her throat. "Hm, well…"

"Please! W-we don't want to die!" A girl grabs the princess' arm out of desperation.

With her utmost tolerance, Azula fights the urge to push the tiny girl away. She merely breathes out, fairing the child a glare before speaking up, "The only way to get rid of pentapox is to dunk yourself in scalding-hot water at least until sundown."

"S-scalding…?"

Azula nods. "Well, yeah. That's why firebenders are literally immune to pentapox. The heat kills it. Just look at me, I'm fine because I'm a firebender."

The children eye each other once again, this time more so in fear than awkwardness before looking to the princess. "N-none of us can bend yet…!"

She sighs, genuinely disappointed in the boy's answer. "Then you better get to it, for the sake of your lives," _and for the sake of this pathetic nation._ "Now go deal with the disease, or you'll all end up with red rashes like this lady."

They nod together almost simultaneously, and Azula almost felt bad right then when some of them looked as if they were about to cry. _Well,_ she just successfully traumatized some more people today. What a great way to celebrate.

"Right! S-scalding hot water! Got it!" And the last of them run off.

Once the children have gone, Azula pushes the unconscious girl's collar open again, this time spotting even more red bruises—some of them are scabs. The wounds look painful, but the reason this girl collapsed is more likely because of exhaustion judging be the unnatural paleness of her skin and those bags under her eyes. Azula can only guess that the girl is probably malnourished as well.

She contemplates on leaving the girl here. But then a breeze comes by; the fresh scent of spring overwhelms her once again. Suddenly, she pictures a lifeless, decaying body, left alone in the middle of a beautiful park, under these cherry blossom trees. Now, that wouldn't be pretty. It'd be unsightly. Azula heaves a sigh and contemplates some more. Perhaps she should simply use her authority as a princess and tell somebody here to take care of the girl. Yes, that would be wise.

Before Azula could do as she planned, however, she notices the stranger regaining consciousness. Or, at least it seems like she is. The girl is groaning and her limbs twitch oddly. Azula knows that her arms and legs do the same thing when she overworks herself during training and ultimately deduces that the girl is having some sort of muscle pain.

And Azula likes to point out that it really isn't giving her any comfort when she looks at this stranger.

But she just cannot look away.

Ty Lee could barely find strength to open her eyes. But she feels a sort of presence beside her, and the thought of it frightens her. So she snaps her eyes open, and, indeed, a hooded figure is kneeling above her, blocking the sun.

A stranger.

Not _him._

Her vision is blurred, she cannot see clearly, but Ty Lee does know one thing—she feels warm. Calm. At ease. It's been a long time since she's felt this way. And it's a beautiful sensation.

 _Maybe… just maybe—_

"Are you…" Ty Lee starts weakly, "… an angel?"

Azula's eyes widen slightly.

Ty Lee relaxes and smiles. "Have I died and gone to heaven?"

The princess breathes out. She doesn't answer immediately, and instead looks at her surroundings. She breathes in the fresh spring air, feels another gentle breeze brush her skin, and finally looks into the girl's tired eyes. "If only it can be that easy."

The hooded figure's voice is rich and soothing. Ty Lee finds joy in that fact and her smile becomes wider.

"Then… will you take me there?" Her arms tremble and her muscles burn when she tries to push herself up, but Ty Lee does it regardless. It's not like she hasn't gone through worse. She doesn't have enough strength to sit up on her own, so she slumps over and supports her upper body with her arms. "I'm just joking. It'd be weird to ask a stranger to take my life, wouldn't it?"

Azula stares blankly. She could've laughed out loud at the girl's bluntness. "You seemed quite serious."

Ty Lee breaks into a throaty chuckle, clearly lacking the strength to even speak at the moment. "Maybe I was being serious," she tries to stand and is seemingly successful at first, but her wobbly legs give out without warning and she topples over. Had the hooded figure not reacted quickly, she would've fallen face-flat onto the hard ground. Ty Lee still has difficulty finding her balance, but she manages not to fall like a ragdoll by leaning onto the figure.

"Thank you," she says, looking up. The first thing she notices is a pair of golden eyes. _Honey-_ golden. A warm, beautiful colour. And then she notices that other than the eyes, this person—this _girl_ —is, in fact, quite charming to look at. When her senses return, the first thing Ty Lee says is nonsensical and completely frank to a stranger, but it is the bloody truth, nonetheless. "You're… you're very pretty."

She hears that a lot. Azula hears that everyday, in fact. From her servants when they fix her hair in the morning. But only one person in the palace makes it sound _as_ sincere.

 _As sincere?_

"I would _perhaps_ say the same about you, but you are covered in dirt."

Ty Lee laughs blithely, as if looking utterly unpresentable unfazes her. Well, truth is, it really does. Or doesn't. Whatever. "I look like a mess with or without dirt, to be honest." She attempts to stand again, this time managing better, but she sees the stranger spreading her arms so that she can catch her if she falls again. "I'm okay now, thanks."

Azula glances at the girl's collar. A small portion of one of the scabs can be seen beneath her shirt. _No,_ Azula wants to say, _you clearly are not._

"Okay." She says instead, and then she simply watches when the girl walks off to pick up her emptied bucket. Azula can only assume that she is trying to get water, considering that the well is right there.

She watches the girl pick up the wooden bucket—the _emptied_ bucket with difficulty. How is she going to carry it when it's filled? The girl then ties the rope to the handle and lowers the bucket, turning the pulley.

But she clearly does not have enough strength to turn it the other way.

Azula scoffs. She doesn't have the patience to look at the girl struggle, nor does she have the patience to watch this tragedy. And it doesn't escape her for a second how out of character she is behaving. From morning till now—Princess Azula is simply not herself today.

"Here," she says, surprisingly in a soft tone, and helps the girl retrieve her filled bucket of water. Azula sees in her peripherals that she is staring with wonderfully round, grey eyes. She would turn to look, but that'd be weird. Azula chooses to focus on everything else but the girl, instead.

"Thank you," Ty Lee watches the stranger place the filled bucket onto the ground with ease. What she wouldn't give to possess strength like that. Unfortunately, she's never going to get enough food to even develop the _fat_ required to make muscles.

Then the girl just ogles at her. Yes, she is trying very hard to not look at those curious grey eyes, but _gods be damned_ it is very, _very_ difficult because they are so freaking big. Azula shifts comfortably. It's not like she's disturbed, she's just never really… well, been gawked at. The servants back at the palace do not even spare her a glance. Or maybe they're just too afraid. Doesn't matter. The way _this_ girl is staring at her is weird.

"Do you…" Azula stutters— _she never stutters—_ and clears her throat immediately, "… need help with that?"

 _What the hell._

Fluttering eyelids. Ty Lee's eyes widen impossibly more so.

"It doesn't," Azula shrugs, more so at herself than at the girl, "… seem like you can carry this, considering how you just collapsed."

There is a significant pause, in which winds and birds and soft cherry blossom petals and sunshine and a combination of everything rings in the background. Ty Lee finally breaks into a nervous smile. "I… I really shouldn't be troubling you. I'm just," she bites at her lower lip, "A servant girl. And you look important."

"And?"

Ty Lee's jaw hangs open. "A-and, well… you shouldn't waste your time on me."

Azula raises a thin brow. _Is that a challenge?_ Nobody tells the princess what to do. Granted, this stranger has no idea who she is, but still. What right does she have to tell her what to do? "I do what I want," Azula starts a bit too harshly, it makes the smaller girl jump a little.

"Sorry. I'm… I don't really think before I speak. I'm so sorry."

Poor peasant girl genuinely looks remorseful. Maybe Azula can spare her. Since she's not feeling like herself today. It only fits that she doesn't behave like herself to complete the combination. "It's fine," she mutters. "I want to help," Azula picks up the filled bucket. It is too filled; water spills in small amounts from all sides of the rim. "Where do you live? I'll take this for you."

 _Yeah, she's not being herself today. At all._

* * *

 **a/n.** I've made Azula quite romantic, didn't I? I don't mean _love_ romantic (at least, not yet), but _romanticism_ romantic. It just happened, I think.  
Anyway, please leave a review!


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